


And We All Grew Up

by 50sNettle



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: AU, Crushes, Family Feels, Fluff, Growing Up Together, I REGRET NOTHING, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 12:17:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8102140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/50sNettle/pseuds/50sNettle
Summary: Q is six when he moves next door to James.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm drowning in the bloody big ship that is 00Q. Help. (jk, no one can help me). I just had a lot of feels, hence this appeared. Enjoy, dears.
> 
> Title comes from the song "Alleyways", by The Neighbourhood.

Q is six when he moves next door to James. His parents have recently split up, much to the horror of his wider family, and so his father has uprooted his two children - namely Q himself and his older sister Emma - down to London, and a relatively small three-bedroom house on the corner of their street.   
  
That evening, the family next door - the Oberhausers, or something; Q can’t remember their surname, but he remembers that they have two children, one theirs and one adopted after some kind of family tragedy - invites their three new neighbours over for dinner. Q does his best to blend into the background all evening, toying with the sleeve of his jumper as he hides in the corner, until the blue eyed adopted kid seems to spot him and comes over, bringing two cups of juice with him.  
  
“Hello,” he says, perhaps a little shy, and more than a little curious. “I’m James.”  
  
Q pauses, assessing the situation for a moment, before giving the boy a tentative half smile, taking the cup of juice being held out towards him.  
  
“Hello, James. I’m Q.”

* * *

 

As it turns out, James and Q end up at the same primary school. Q is relieved to hear this, because at least he doesn’t have to start completely from scratch, and James eagerly grabs him by the hand and introduces the new arrival to his other friends - a boy and a girl, Bill and Eve, who welcome Q into their circle with open arms (literally, in Eve’s case). They’re a rather mismatched group, Q thinks at times, being rather different personality types, but that hasn’t seemed to matter in this case. They continue to pass through primary school together with barely a hiccup.  
  
“What do you guys want to do when you grow up?” Eve asks, one lunchtime, as they sit outside on the grass playing field, under the tree that they’ve claimed as theirs. They’re eight years old at this point, Bill coming up for nine very shortly, the question asked after one particular lesson centred around the concept of The Future. It’s a scary concept, in Q’s mind; adults always seem to overcomplicate things that don’t need to be complicated.  
  
James takes a moment to think this over, before grinning. “I want to be a spy.”  
  
This sparks a laugh from the other three, before Bill gives his answer.  
  
“I want to be an astronaut,” he says, using his arms to mime floating in space for a moment. “And to go travelling, like my aunt Sarah. She’s been all over the world with her new   
husband. I’d like to do that.”  
  
“The travelling or getting married?”  
  
“Both. What about you guys?” Bill leans around Eve and James to look at Q. “What about you, Q?”  
  
Q looks between his friends, all watching him now with expectant expressions. “Oh. I’m, uh, not sure. About what I want to do, I mean. I don’t want to get married and have a wife.”  
  
He’s still young - that’s what his father always says, anyway - but girls don’t really hold much of his interest; apart from Eve, of course, but Eve is different - Eve is his friend, not someone whom he sees in the way that one is perhaps supposed to see girls, like James. James has “dated” - a rather loose term - many of the girls in their year, the latest being Camille, who was with him for the grand total of three days before she grew tired of it.  
  
“A husband, then?” Eve suggests, a logical tone to her voice, causing all three to look at her. “What? My mum says that there’s nothing wrong with me marrying another girl, so there’s nothing wrong with Q marrying another boy.”  
  
“Really?” Q asks, and James echoes the question too.  
  
“Really,” Eve replies. Her reply is firm enough, in that tone that means that she’s not joking around this time, but Q still wonders about it for the rest of that day and the entire walk home.  
  
“Dad?” He asks slowly, later on, sitting on the kitchen counter with a juice carton in his hand, as his father works next to him, peeling potatoes for dinner.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“Could I really have a husband one day?”  
  
His father’s hands pause, if only for a moment, before he picks another potato from the chopping board, carrying on almost immediately.  
  
“Why do you ask, Quillian?”  
  
“Something that Eve said today,” Q admits. His father must be serious if he’s using his full name, as opposed to the usual moniker. “We were talking about the future, and I said I didn’t want a wife, so she said that I could have a husband instead and that would be alright.” He glances at the man next to him, an expression somewhere between concern and confusion. “Would you be upset if I had a husband?”  
  
“Why on earth would I be upset?” His father gives him a reassuring smile, as he scoops up potato peel and deposits it into the bin. “Don’t look so worried, son. I wouldn’t be upset if you had a husband, but I do think that you’re a little young to start worrying about whether or not you’re going to get married in the future and who to. At least get through high school before you start thinking about that kind of thing, okay? For the sake of my nerves?”  
  
Q relaxes at the words, smiling too. “Okay.”

* * *

Q thinks back to that conversation several times over the next couple of years, specifically when he’s eleven. It’s the last few weeks of primary school, and there’s a school disco going on, a goodbye celebration for all of the kids moving up to high school in September. The majority of his year group is partnering up into “couples”, as it were, but Q hasn’t been approached by anyone. He’s not really that bothered; he’d much rather spend the evening with his father, tinkering and experimenting with whatever junk they can find in the cellar. James, however, looks horrified when his best friend mentions this.  
  
“You have to go!” He insists, as they share the usual fifteen minute walk home, bumping shoulders occasionally. “Everyone’s going.”  
  
Q gives him a half hearted shrug. “I’m not really the party type, James. You know that.”  
  
“You should come anyway, with me and Madeleine. She won’t mind.”  
  
Madeleine Swann, a blonde girl in their class, is James’ date. She’s nice enough, in Q’s opinion, if a little nosy. She wants to be a psychologist after leaving school; according to her, her constant questioning is merely “practise” for when she’s older.  
  
“That’s very kind of you, but I’m sure she’d rather I wasn’t being your third wheel.”  
  
“You could always find someone to go with.”  
  
“This late?”  
  
“Sure.” James nudges his best friend with his elbow. “Anyone with half a brain would want to go with you.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Of course! You’re one of the smartest, and nicest, people I know - and never tell Eve I said that about someone who wasn’t her. She’d never let me hear the end of it.”  
  
Q chuckles, and his stomach does a weird churn at the grin James gives him, something that he doesn’t understand and can’t put a name to.

* * *

Q realises what it is when he’s thirteen.  
  
James and he are sitting in the Oberhausers’ back garden, side by side in the hammock under the trees, watching the night sky. James glances at him at an odd interval, smiling when he catches Q watching him, and Q is suddenly (not for the first time, he realises afterwards, when he’s spent time analysing the moment over and over again) overcome with the urge to see what it would be like to pull him in and kiss him. A million butterflies flutter in his stomach at the idea, and it honestly frightens him a little, because he’s sat through enough romantic comedy films with Eve - and Madeleine, on occasion - to know what they mean. He’s developed a crush on his best friend.  
  
 _Oh, shit._

* * *

“Hey - you got one too!”  
  
Q lets out a groan as they reach his locker, ripping away the brightly coloured poster that has been plastered across the door so that he can put his coat inside, adjusting his glasses as he does so.  
  
Eve rolls her eyes, as she leans against the locker block. “Not a prom person, huh?”  
  
“Did you ever really think I was?” The fifteen year old next to her asks with an accompanying sigh. “It’s not exactly my idea of a _fun night out_.”  
  
“Is that the argument James has been using to try and convince you to come with us?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
James, after succeeding in getting Vesper Lynd to agree to be his date, has made it his mission to get his best friend to attend prom too, something that really isn’t doing much to help Q’s crush on him. He often sees Eve giving him sympathetic looks when she knows their mutual friend won’t notice; apparently she figured the whole crush thing out even before Q himself had, which is just typical.  
  
“You could always tag along with me and Bill,” Eve says now, after a moment of thought. “We’re going in a group with Madeleine and a few others. Always room for you in the taxi, and you wouldn’t have to watch James and Vesper making eyes at each other all the time.”  
  
“Hm.” Q takes a moment to think this over, before he slams his locker shut. “I’ll think about it.”  
  
Eve smiles, because they both know that when Q says _I’ll think about it_ , it means that he’s giving in to her insistence.  
  
“Good.”

* * *

 

“I wish I could just find someone like you.”  
  
Q counts himself lucky that they’re sitting in the dark, or else James would be able to see the colour his face is no doubt going. It’s the middle of the summer, hot and muggy; James is lying on his stomach, on the floor close by, face illuminated by the screen of his phone. He’s talking to someone over Facebook, a girl he had gone out with the week before but hadn’t felt like seeing again. Q doesn’t even know her name. Maybe James wouldn’t either, if it isn’t for the name on screen. Not that it really seems to matter; he’s trying to let her down gently by saying that he’s met someone else - perhaps not the best way to do it, but getting involved in James’ romantic entanglements would no doubt give him a headache.  
  
“What?” He says, in response to James’ statement.  
  
“I wish I could find someone like you,” James repeats, glancing over at his friend for a brief moment, before looking back to the screen as another message arrives. “Someone who’s willing to stick around and put up with me - you know, give me a kick up the arse when I need one.”  
  
“Your eloquent choice of words never fails to amaze me,” Q says dryly, earning himself a cushion that James flings in his direction, and a smile that has his insides all warm. That is, until another message comes through, diverting James’ attention, dulling that warmth a little.  
  
“Pet names,” he says, interrupting any chance Q could have to feel even the slightest bit sorry for himself.  
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
“I need a convincing pet name for my “partner”.” He makes quotation marks around the word. “Any suggestions?”  
  
“Uh -” Q scans the room, picking out the first thing he lays eyes upon - namely, the empty box of cupcakes that they’d eaten about an hour ago during the end of their film marathon. “Cupcake.”  
  
James thinks on it, and then shrugs. “Good enough as anything, I suppose.”

* * *

“I need you.”  
  
Q blinks. Not exactly what he had been expecting to hear when he answered his phone. Hoping, perhaps, because he’s a romantic at heart - Eve’s causing, no doubt. Expecting, no.  
  
“Evening, James. I’m fine, thank you for asking. I’m glad you’re having a nice evening too.”  
  
“Shut up,” James replies from the other end of the line, but there’s no malice behind his tone. “And, because you commented, no, I’m not having a nice evening.”  
  
“Why?” Q closes the book in his lap. “What’s going on?”  
  
“Well, that’s kind of why I called. I need a favour.”  
  
 _A phrase that never ends well when coming from James Bond_ , Q thinks. “Go on.”  
  
“They’ve all insisted on having a family dinner tonight.” From his tone, _family dinner_ might as well have been the most unholy pair of swear words James could think of. “And   
one of them - some aunt, I think - was constantly asking me why I hadn’t _found someone nice to settle down with_.”  
  
“Oh, no,” Q says, monotonous. “People inquiring after your happiness. How terrible.”  
  
“I’m _twenty_ , Q. Why do I have to find s _omeone to settle down with_ now? Well, anyway, she kept asking and asking, and I was prepared to ignore it, until _someone_ -” There’s a glare being directed at someone now, Q is sure of it, and it’s no doubt Franz Oberhauser, if the faint sound of the man snickering in the background is anything to go by. “- decided to inform them that apparently I _had_ , in fact, met someone, and was just keeping it from them.”  
  
“ _No!_ ” James’ adopted brother says in the background, suddenly sounding rather put-out about the fact that he’d been misquoted. “ _I_ said, _you’d met someone and were in denial_   
to yourself. _There’s a difference._ ”  
  
“Oh, _is_ there?” James says, before addressing Q again. “Well, I tried to defuse the situation, as best I could, but then _someone_ -” More unseen glaring. “- thought it would be a good idea to drop _your_ name into the conversation.”  
  
“Me? Why me?”  
  
“No idea,” James replies, only for Franz to scoff loudly from somewhere close by. It wouldn’t surprise Q if the man had crept closer in order to hear the full conversation, as opposed to just one side of it. “But, as usual, I’m cleaning up his mess, so I need you to make a quick appearance as my boyfriend. Please?” The pleasantry is added when Q doesn’t say anything for a moment or two.   
  
He sighs. _Damn you, James Bond._  
  
“I’ll be there in a minute. Let me just grab a jumper.”  
  
He can hear James sighing in relief down the line. “Thank you, Q.”

 

* * *

Franz is the one who answers the door when Q knocks, maybe five minutes after the end of the phone call. He raises an eyebrow as he gives the younger man a once-over, taking in the jumper (the nicest one that Q owns), the smart jeans, and the attempt at trying to brush his hair into something presentable.  
  
“Hello, future brother-in-law,” he says. “Anyone would think we were having a celebration.”  
  
Q rolls his eyes. “Hardly. This is a marriage of convenience, since, apparently, you’ve been putting your foot in it.”  
  
Franz simply looks at him for a moment, a cross between surprise and amusement, before shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I didn’t think I could meet anyone who could have their head buried deeper in the sands of denial than dear James - but, no, then _you_ come along.”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“Q.” It’s at that moment that James chooses to appear, seemingly out of nowhere, pulling his best friend into a one-armed hug. He’s dressed in a suit, the one that only comes out of his wardrobe when Important Events (with capital letters) are happening. Eve and the others like to tease their mutual friend about it to no end, but Q has always been appreciative of James in a suit, however awkward it might make the situation. He’s sure that tonight will be no different - and, no doubt, worse.  
  
“It’s okay,” Q says aloud, returning the hug. “Anything to help a friend.”  
  
“ _Friend,_ ” Franz mutters under his breath; Q had, for a moment, forgotten that he’s actually still there, watching the whole exchange. “Christ. Unbelievable.”

* * *

 

“I think you should tell him.”  
  
Q glances at Madeleine, squashed in the armchair next to him, a meaningful look written across her face. It’s getting on for three o’clock in the morning; everyone else in the room, barring them, is asleep, full of pizza and alcohol, sprawled across the living room of Madeleine’s student flat, in front of some mindless comedy film Bill had found.  
  
“Tell who what?” He says, although he has a pretty good idea about what she’s referring to, if the look on her face is anything to go by.  
  
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Q.” She nods across the room to where James is slumped on the floor, leaning against the sofa, his sleeping face illuminated by the light of the television screen. “You need to tell James about how you feel - and, before you say anything, yes, I know, I’ve known for years.”  
  
There goes any chance at pretence, then. “How?”  
  
“I’ve just spent three years working towards a psychology degree, Q. I think I’ve developed some skills in how to read people. And, well, you weren’t exactly being subtle about it in the first place. It’s a wonder I didn’t pick it up sooner.”  
  
Q inclines his head towards the rest of the gathered party. “Does everyone else know?”   
  
“Apart from Eve, not that I’m aware of. But, that’s beside the point. You should just tell him how you feel, get it out in the open.”  
  
“Um, no.”  
  
“Um, _yes_.” She gives him an encouraging nudge. “Come on. What’s keeping you from telling him? What are you so worried about?”

“We’ve been friends a while, James and I. Since the first day I ever arrived in London. Fifteen years is a long time, Madeleine, and a lot of friendship to risk on something like this.”  
  
“Hm.” Is all Madeleine says for a moment, thinking. Putting her upcoming degree to good use, no doubt. “Q.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Do you remember, back in primary school, when they held that goodbye celebration for all of the kids leaving that year?”  
  
“Uh -” Q thinks back, before nodding. “Yes. I remember.”  
  
“And how James kept begging you to come too, even though he was already going with me?”  
  
“He said you wouldn’t mind,” Q says, thinking of the walk home that day and James’ insistence, sending Madeleine a half smile. “Is this you telling me that you _would_ have minded?”  
  
Madeleine rolls her eyes, before knocking him playfully in the shoulder. “This is just me telling you to think about it, Q. _Really_ think about it. Fifteen years is a long time to get to know someone - hell, _anything_ could happen in that time.”

* * *

“I have something to tell you,” Q says suddenly, one day, when they’re sitting in the middle of the National Gallery, before mentally cursing himself in his head. He hadn’t actually meant to say anything out loud, but Madeleine’s conversation with him that night at her flat had been running through his head all afternoon, bothering him to no end.  
  
James glances away from the Turning painting he’s been observing for the past five minutes, turning his attention on Q, who’s now fidgeting in the seat beside him. “Is it more art theory about warships and _the inevitability of time_?”  
  
“Don’t pretend that you weren’t interested in hearing it.” Q gives him a half smile, before his expression becomes serious again. “No, it’s not about that.”  
  
“Oh?” James raises an eyebrow, curious. “What, then?”

Now or never, it seems. “We’ve been friends a long time now, haven’t we?”

“Nearly sixteen years. Why?”

“I, uh - I think I - No, actually, forget that, I _know_ -” _Smooth._ This is a lot harder than Madeleine implied that it would be. 

“Not to rush you, but I’d like to have lunch at some point today, Q -”

“I like you,” he says finally, cutting James off. “Not just in a _You’re my best friend kind of way_ , but in a _I want to spend the rest of my life with you_ kind of way - Not that I’m trying to propose to you or anything.” He jumps in quickly when James’ eyes widen slightly. “I mean, that’s not - This isn’t - Oh, God -”

“Q.” James cuts him off before he can release anymore garbled half-sentences. “It’s okay.”

Q resist the urge to hide behind his hands. “It might be for you. You’re not the one who’s just made an arse of himself.”

“I’d hardly call _this_ making an arse of yourself. Besides, it’s not like you’re alone in this.”

“What do you mean by that?” Q asks, and James gives him a meaningful look, inviting him to figure it out for himself - which Q does, about three seconds later. “Oh.”

“Exactly.”

“So - You -” 

“It took me a while to realise, but yes.”

Q lets out a chuckle, the sound awkward. “Right. Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“Why didn’t _you_  say anything sooner?” James counters, looking amused.

“Touché.” Q glances at the painting in front of him, and then looks back to his best friend - or, whatever it is they actually are now. “So, what happens now?”

James meets his gaze with a smile. “How about we start with lunch?”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that happened.


End file.
